


honey in the shade

by nfwmb (earthshaker)



Series: boy, we're gold [1]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Celebrity, F/M, Hand Jobs, Marriage Proposal, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, POV Alternating, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-01-13 01:14:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18458438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthshaker/pseuds/nfwmb
Summary: “Will you marry me one day?” Minghao asks, looking up at Seokmin, thumbs rubbing circles against her skin.Seokmin’s smile, heart-shaped, gets impossibly bigger, the same one that first endeared Minghao to her, eyes curved into crescents.“Can’t take your proposal seriously without a ring, Minghao. How did we go from a house together to marriage?”“That’s not a no, though,” Minghao says instead.“No,” Seokmin drawls out, ducking down to kiss Minghao’s nose. “It isn’t.”____________Alternatively, the three times Minghao proposes or tries to, the one time it works and the wedding that ensues.





	1. no other star

**Author's Note:**

> it's been a month since i posted something and i'm going stupid!! in the midst of writing fitr for seokmin's birthday, or celebhets, as i fondly refer to it as, i got really attached to this verse and came up with the idea of a prequel, which some people on twt and cc were interested in too. there was a point where i was writing this more than i was things i was actually supposed to be writing. the current chapter is at a general rating but it _will_ be going up in future chapters.my beloved[ len/figure8 wrote the jungyu spinoff](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18471973)!! it picks up some time after the first scene of this fic but is very much a standalone please check it out and love it as well this verse is our sandbox!!!! that being said, and i'm sure you're tired of reading my thank yous but ty andrea, len and riley for rotating my fave heterosexuals with me always. title from sonnet xvi by pablo neruda.

I love the handful of the earth you are.

Because of its meadows, vast as a planet,

I have no other star. You are my replica

of the multiplying universe

**_Sonnet XVI,_ Pablo Neruda**

 

 

Mingyu meets Lee Seokmin a month after Minghao and her start seeing each other exclusively. Personally, Mingyu thinks they’ve been exclusively dating for at least four months now, but too stubborn to acknowledge it. As it stands, it took Minghao and Seokmin six months of ping-ponging back and forth before Minghao finally asked her out; Mingyu knows because he was the first person Minghao called when she agreed to go on a date with him.

The only reason it took so long for Mingyu to meet Seokmin is that she’s been on tour, and still _is_ on tour, except she’s finally wrapped up most of the East Coast and Midwest, and is finally back on the West Coast. Minghao has been downright miserable, and Mingyu had to talk him out of buying tickets for every show that wasn’t sold out. It’s funny. _Minghao_ is usually Mingyu’s impulse control, not the other way around.

But now that he has her in his apartment, he understands, just a little, how it is that America is head over heels for her. How _Minghao_ is head over heels for her. Mingyu and Minghao have dated through their fair share of rich and famous but Seokmin is something else. When Kim Mingyu first meets Lee Seokmin, he’s a little starstruck. It’s hard not to be; he may come from money but she’s something else entirely, carries herself with an easy charisma that endears people to her immediately. He’s no different.

Seokmin bypasses the hand he offers out to her, goes straight for a hug, and beams, looking over his penthouse suite, until her eyes land on his Steinway.

“Do you play?” Seokmin asks, tucking her hair behind her ears.

"I used to," Mingyu shrugs. "Work makes it hard."

Next to her, Minghao rolls his eyes fondly. He has an arm wrapped around her waist, body angled towards her. 

“Don’t let her on it, she’ll never leave it alone,” Minghao says.

Seokmin smiles, but it’s gentler when it’s directed at Minghao, isn't like any of the smiles Mingyu's seen in tabloid pictures or on her Instagram. Mingyu feels like a stranger in his own house.

“You bought one for your apartment because I complained you didn’t have one,” Seokmin ribs.

Mingyu laughs. “I helped him choose that.”

Minghao had called him in distress while he was at work, rambling about pianos and the girl he was seeing and _if I have one she'll come over more_. They’d ended up picking out a baby grand over the weekend. At that time, Mingyu had thought it an obscene amount of money to spend over anyone, considering Minghao didn't play and it was purely for her use. If Minghao had told him he was purchasing a piano for an R&B singer, he would have taken it more seriously.

Seokmin turns her smile to him, and Mingyu feels more than just starstruck—it’s a radiant smile—despite the fact that he works with models all the time.

“Thank you, I love it. I’m thinking of selling my current one and bringing Minghao’s home instead.”

“I’ll buy you a new one,” Minghao says quickly. “We can get a real grand piano for your apartment.”

“Don’t be silly, that’s a waste of money.”

Mingyu wants to laugh at the pinched expression on Minghao’s face. Seokmin means well but Minghao’s method of showing affection has always meant that if you said you wanted something, you would wake up the next morning to find it in your hands. For his sixteenth birthday, Mingyu wanted a Porsche and somehow, Minghao convinced Mingyu’s parents to get him a Porsche that Mingyu totaled 6 months later.

Dinner is pleasant, enjoyable, really. It’s been a while since Mingyu had a chance to breathe without the company’s board breathing down his neck, longer still since he’s had the chance to _actually_ cook for someone. Minghao had insisted on a restaurant, but Mingyu’s been waiting to meet Seokmin since Minghao showed up to their dinner plans late with red ears and out of breath some 6 months or so ago. So sure, they could have gotten into any 5-star restaurant in Los Angeles without a reservation between the three of them, but Mingyu had broken out the please and Minghao had sighed, giving in. Throughout the course of dinner, Mingyu feels more and more like they've both been missing Seokmin their whole lives; she's loud and cracks jokes, presses Mingyu about dating someone the way Minghao and his sister do, fights him over the doing the dishes, _exiles_ Mingyu to his bar while Minghao and her flick soap suds at each other and load the dishwasher.

Mingyu hasn’t had _time_ to look for what they have with each other. Can't even fathom what it feels like, the way adoration rolls off them and fills the space with it. 

“Can I play something for you?” Seokmin asks.

He gestures towards the piano. “Be my guest.”

She makes her way to the piano eagerly and Mingyu remembers the handful of facts he’d found while Googling her—an overnight Youtube sensation, an entire childhood of singing for the Korean church, 15 years of classical piano lessons—evident in the way she plays _Clair de Lune_ without a hitch. It must mean something to Minghao because he leans forward, abandons his stool at the bar to sit on the sofa closest to her.

“Any requests?” Seokmin asks when she’s done, ducking her head when both Minghao and Mingyu compliment her.

“Mingyu likes Maroon 5,” Minghao says, turning back to look at him. There's an expression on his face, like he's daring Mingyu to say no. Mingyu nods, smiling.

“Maroon 5 is easy,” Seokmin says, taking a moment to recalibrate before launching into Lost Stars, her falsetto clear as she sings along.

Mingyu feels a pang of loneliness, watching Minghao watch Seokmin. Mingyu used to think he knew what Minghao looked like when he’s in love. After all, Minghao and he, they were each other's firsts, in every meaning of the word and then through every other relationship after that. But Mingyu’s never seen him like this. Minghao’s attentive, yes, reaches out to you before _you_ know what’s wrong with yourself but with Seokmin, it’s more than that. It’s gravitational, has a pull on Minghao so big every one of Seokmin’s actions has an effect on _his_ actions. She pulls away from him to laugh and already Minghao’s adjusting his body for when she returns. And when she returns there’s no shifting around; Minghao’s right where she needs him to be.

Distantly, Mingyu wants that.

Presently, he’s happy for his best friend. Minghao never quite got over his last boyfriend—spent a year thinking they were going to get married until Minghao found out he was cheating on him—but Seokmin’s good. Seokmin coaxes out a happier Minghao, a less guarded Minghao and well, that’s all Mingyu ever wants out of anyone who dates Minghao.

He’s looking for the same thing, as much as he can, after all.

 

**⚜**

 

“Hi,” Minghao groans, sitting up when Seokmin enters the apartment. She stares at him for a moment; its midnight, Minghao has a board meeting tomorrow and he’s been waiting for her on the couch.

Fallen asleep on the couch, by the looks of it, really. His hair is sticking up weird on one side and there are pillow marks on his cheek. It's  _adorable._

“You didn’t have to stay up for me,” Seokmin says, locking the door and disabling the security alarm.

“I had work to do,” Minghao smiles, standing up and shuffling closer.

She knows he’s lying because his laptop isn’t out and Netflix is still open on the television, but she doesn’t call him out for it. She likes it, if she's being honest, always misses Minghao more when he's not staying with her. He’s quiet when he pulls her into a hug, and Seokmin feels an entire day’s worth of stress bleed out of her. Minghao smells like his cologne and her fabric softener and she should be balking at the fact that he’s all but moved into her apartment but Seokmin likes it.

“How was your day?” Minghao mumbles into her hair.

Seokmin can feel the rumble of his voice against her, gentle, reassuring. “Better now that I’m with you.”

Minghao huffs and Seokmin doesn’t have to look at him to know he’s smiling.  

By the time they’re both done with their night time routines and curled up in bed together, the green glow of her bedside clock reads a little past one. Minghao has to wake up in 5 hours if he wants to beat the traffic, but presently he’s very much content with Seokmin’s head on his chest, lined up against his side, one leg thrown over him. It’s not like Seokmin _needs_ to keep him there; Minghao stays. Always. But she wants to—keep him, that is. She’ been thinking about it a lot lately, the way he knows what she needs and when she needs it, the way he drinks up her love and pours it back into her, the way Seokmin doesn’t want to run away from him. Thinking about the ways she could make him  _hers,_ the way she wishes she could put some sort of claim mark on him, the way her entire team knows who gifted her the bracelet around her wrist. She gets Minghao to help her take it off every time, once a month, sends it off for polishing before getting Minghao to fasten it again. It's vaguely foreplay, if foreplay involved Minghao with her wrist in his lap and tightening the screw again, kissing her pulse point. 

It’s scary—it’s one thing imagining finding a love you won’t let go of as a teenager. It’s another thing to have him in your arms.

“Mama called earlier,” Minghao says.

Seokmin hums. “How was her trip home?”

“Good. She called to invite us, well, you specifically, for Dongzhi this year.”

“Dongzhi?”

“Winter solstice festival. I won’t take the fun away from mama explaining it to you but it’s next week.”

Seokmin laughs. “Sure baby, I’d love to join you and your family. Which restaurant are we going to? Do you want me to make reservations?”

Sometimes Minghao talks about his parents or even his personal goals, and she feels acutely dizzy. Nothing makes her feel like she should be asking his parents' permission to marry him more than listening to him talk about them: the last time it was about buying his mother tickets home and this time, it’s over having her join them for what sounds like a family tradition. Minghao’s painstakingly _filial_ , points out little things his mother would love, has run an exhibition on portraits of his father, carries with him the weight of the only son and Seokmin finds it all very attractive. They haven’t even told each they love each other—Seokmin’s still waiting to hear it from Minghao—but mentally she’s picking out a ring. A thick band, no diamonds because getting paint out of it would be hell, maybe an engraved face.

It’s overwhelming, in the best way.

“Ah,” Minghao hesitates, Seokmin propping her head up. “We celebrate Dongzhi in my parents' house. In Calabasas.”

Oh. That’s new. Seokmin’s done plenty of dinners where both Minghao and her cook themselves into a fit or take his parents out but she hasn’t been to their _home._ Granted, they’re always traveling now that his father is retired but Seokmin had always assumed they didn’t like her enough to invite her.

“Are you sure about this?” Seokmin asks, tentative.

“Mama wants you there and besides she’s been trying to have you over but our schedules never lined up. And since we’re seeing your family for Christmas, this is the closest I have to a Christmas tradition, yanno?”

Seokmin sighs, intertwining their hands and kissing his Adam’s apple. Contentedness seeps into her bones and she’s never felt so secure in her love.

“Let’s do it.” Minghao smiles in response, kissing her forehead.

 

**⚜**

 

Seokmin’s loud in every aspect of her life and Minghao adores her for that, but the drive to Calabasas has been weirdly quiet. There’s no singing along to the radio or pointing out the weird billboards. She’s been bouncing one leg since they got into the car, only calming down once they hit the highway and Minghao intertwined their hands together on Seokmin’s thigh. It’s definitely a traffic hazard to have one hand on the wheel and the other occupied but she shoots him a grateful smile and the bouncing stops, at least.

Minghao understands her nerves all too well—while Minghao didn’t take long to actually introduce Seokmin to his parents, he didn’t meet hers until a few months ago. Then again, Seokmin and Minghao are very different in that respect. Minghao finds something he wants and does his all to get it. Seokmin finds something and works steadily towards it, no rush. She doesn’t say anything until they’re parked in the driveway and out of the car.

“Minghao,” Seokmin tugs on his sleeve, biting down on her lip.

“What if they hate me?” Seokmin asks tentatively, her voice barely above a whisper.

Minghao frowns, intertwining his fingers with her free hand, kissing her knuckles.

“Baby, you’ve met them before.”

“Yes but this is important to you. It’s like… me bringing you home for Chuseok or Seollal. Do people even bring their _girlfriends_ to Dongzhi?”

“Minnie, mama wanted you to join us. I mean, I would’ve asked you even if she didn’t, but you’ll be just fine,” Minghao squeezes her hand again.

“I’m being silly, aren’t I?” She’s pouting, and if Minghao didn’t care about the raging gossips he’s had for neighbors growing up, he’d kiss the pout away.

“I was afraid to meet your family too. But you’ll do just fine, baby, and if it’s too much we can leave early.”

Seokmin huffs. “I’d never ask you to choose me over your family.”

Minghao smiles. He knows; she’s as filial as he is. But then Seokmin squares her shoulders, hefts the gift basket full of wine, herbal teas, and fruits Minghao told her she didn’t need to bring but she’d insisted on anyway and marches forward to ring the doorbell. Minghao follows behind, hopelessly in love.

His mother opens the door, accepting the basket with insistences that Seokmin _shouldn’t have, but oh, you brought a Gewurztraminer, we’ll have it later,_ sets the basket to the side to sweep Seokmin into a hug. Minghao takes it all in—Seokmin, slightly taller than his mother, hugging her, the both of them with wide smiles on their faces.

The realization doesn’t sucker punch him. If anything, it dawns on him slowly, the same way desire simmered slow and warm the first time he met Seokmin. He’s looking at the two most important women in his life and in the doorway of his childhood home, Minghao realizes he wants to spend his life with Seokmin. In a way, he’s been saying it. He bought Seokmin a Cartier _Love_ bracelet for their one year anniversary, brought Seokmin to his _home_ (the last person he dated he brought _home_ to his parents was Mingyu), tells her he adores her, kisses her when she leaves the apartment and comes home and every moment in between.

Minghao just hasn’t been _saying_ it.

Holds onto the words “I love you” because it’s frightening, the lengths he’d go to for Seokmin.

Knows with certainty though, that it’s Seokmin or nothing.

His train of thought is interrupted by his mother sweeping him into a hug, clucking her tongue as she takes in the length of his hair.

“Can’t believe you walk around with your hair like that and somehow Seokmin is still dating you.” She fusses.

Seokmin laughs, Minghao pouting. It’s not _that_ long, hasn’t crossed over into mullet territory yet, at least. Besides, Seokmin likes it long, even though it tickles her and Minghao’s definitely received a knee to the face one too many times.

“He looks handsome, Mrs. Xu,” Seokmin is still giggling and his mother looks at both of them with poorly concealed fondness.

Minghao should ask his parents for their blessings if he’s thinking about marrying Seokmin.

“Aiyo, you kids. Come, we need to make the _tang yuan_ ,” she gestures them towards the kitchen, Seokmin following close behind.

“ _Tang yuan_?” She repeats carefully, adjusting her pronunciation when his mother repeats it again.

“Minghao didn’t explain Dongzhi to you?”

“Ah,” Seokmin turns to glare at him. “He didn’t want to take the fun away from you. I’m sorry, I should have looked it up.”

She pats Seokmin’s shoulder, smiling. “It’s alright, I will tell you what it is.”

His mother launches into the explanation of Dongzhi, Minghao stepping in whenever English fails her as they knead the color into the rice flour. Seokmin delights at the texture of the dough, listening attentively as his mother explains how to shape them.

“Do they need to be the same size?” Seokmin asks, rolling out the little balls.

“You should make four big ones, one for each of us, but keep the rest same, yes. I do these with fillings but I couldn’t find _lian rong_ paste this year and Hao doesn’t like _dou sha_ paste, so we’re having them plain this year. If you’re not touring when I make _yuanxiao_ dumplings, I’ll teach you how to make those,” she chatters.

Minghao smiles, quietly rolling out the balls. He likes the feeling of sharing his traditions with Seokmin; he hasn’t had a chance to before but this feels nice. Seokmin doesn’t go back on tour until March, which means they could possibly spend Seollal with her parents and the Lunar New Year together. Watching the way his mother teaches Seokmin how to make the syrup and how to cook the tang yuan fills Minghao with contentment that’s indescribable; not even a successful exhibition makes him feel like this. She kicks them out when they’re done with the tang yuan, insisting on finishing up whatever cooking is left.

“Is there anything I can help with Mrs. Xu?” Seokmin flutters around her nervously.

“How many times do I have to tell you it’s aunty for you?”

“Sorry, aunty,” Seokmin laughs. “Can I help you with anything?” She presses.

“No, no, I’m good. Minghao show her the house. Oh, and the piano, Seokmin, you should play uncle something.”

Seokmin beams, flushing. “I will,” she promises.

His father is still holed up in the office for some reason, Seokmin bowing deep when they greet him. Minghao’s hand flutters along the small of her back as they exchange pleasantries with his father, and then Minghao’s taking her on a tour of the upstairs.

“The house is beautiful,” Seokmin remarks, trailing her hand along the wooden banister of the stairs.

She’s backlit by the setting sun refracted through the foyer chandelier, her profile red and gold, Minghao’s breath hitching.

“Babe, just stay there, lemme go see if I have a camera in my room.”

Seokmin bursts into laughter, bending over in half from the force of it. Minghao’s worried she might fall over but he also needs to capture this moment on film, running to his room and unearthing one of his older Polaroid cameras. The film roll reads for 3 pieces and the light doesn’t wink out of existence when he turns it on, running back to Seokmin and taking the pictures. She’s used to this by now, patient and listening to his instruction as he tries to capture the moment, switching to his phone when he runs out of film.

“May I see them?” Minghao pulls out the Polaroids; they’re still developing, but they’re beautiful nonetheless.

“You look gorgeous,” Minghao breathes out, tugging her along to his room.

“This is the room you grew up in?” Seokmin asks in amazement, her hand trailing over the shelve that has all his books. For every novel, there are three books of poetry. 

Minghao shrugs, lounging back on his bed. The room never really fell into disuse; Minghao still stays with his parents whenever Seokmin’s touring or traveling. He’d gotten so used to all the noise that follows in her wake not having her around is hard now. The juxtaposition of Seokmin in his childhood bedroom is startling; his own sun in the midst of angst-ridden paintings and dark gray walls. Teenage Minghao would also be very surprised that he would grow up to date someone as hot as Seokmin.

He watches her marvel over his books and figurine collection, old watches lined up neatly on his shelf, odd knick-knacks. Seokmin squeals in delight when she finds one of many photo albums he has of his childhood, pulling it out and flipping through the pages.

“Mama has the better ones downstairs, I’m sure she’ll show you,” Minghao protests.

“This is payback for when my parents showed you pictures of me,” Seokmin delights, snapping pictures as she flips through the album.

“You’re a cute baby and a cuter adult,” he defends.

Seokmin sighs and stands in front of him, hands settling at the base of his neck, tipping his head up. Now that he thinks about it, her shirt, a silk maroon button-up that looks two sizes too big to be hers might just be his. It looks good on her though, and Minghao makes a note to see if it’s available in more colors so she can take those too.

“Did you steal my shirt?” Minghao sneaks his hands under the hem of it, hands settling against Seokmin’s warm skin above the waistband of her jeans.

“You can’t leave your clothes in my house and think I’m not going to wear them,” Seokmin giggling as his hands brush higher, over her ribs.

Minghao’s not trying to fool around, not really, but he always wants Seokmin. There’s something about having her in proximity to him that sets him off, like there’s a magnetic force that pulls him to her, that guides his hands over her skin, points him due north.

“You need a bigger closet,” Minghao mumbles.

Seokmin hums. “We should sell our places and get a bigger one together. I miss you when you spend an entire week in the studio.

“Are you serious?” Minghao’s hesitant. It’s not like he doesn’t _want_ to live with Seokmin but a shared home, that’s a huge commitment, even if he’s practically moved in since they moved his Steinway to her apartment.

“We can look at something closer to Santa Monica… the commute will be terrible for both of us but I know you like being close to the ocean.” Seokmin smiles, carding through his hair.

Minghao has plans for a house by the beach. One day. Said plans also involve marriage.

“Will you marry me one day?” Minghao asks, looking up at Seokmin, thumbs rubbing circles against her skin.

Seokmin’s smile, heart-shaped, gets impossibly bigger, the same one that first endeared Minghao to her, eyes curved into crescents.

“Can’t take your proposal seriously without a ring, Minghao. How did we go from a house together to marriage?”

“That’s not a no, though,” Minghao says instead.

“No,” Seokmin drawls out, ducking down to kiss Minghao’s nose. “It isn’t. Let’s go down, your parents are gonna be wondering where we disappeared to.”

“Oh, I mean, I wouldn’t worry,” Minghao says, even as Seokmin tugs him along. “Mama caught Mingyu with his hand down my pants once. I think she would be surprised if we _didn’t_ disappear.”

“Minghao!” Seokmin squeals out, blushing furiously. “We’re not fucking in your childhood bedroom.”

“You love me enough that you’re considering it though,” Minghao teases as he backs Seokmin against the wall, tensing up as the words escape his brain to mouth filter.

There’s a singular, heart-stopping moment where Minghao thinks Seokmin will turn him down. But then her smile turns impossibly tender, mirroring the way her hand cups Minghao’s face. He keeps his eyes on hers even as he turns his head to kiss the palm of her hand.

“I do love you, very much.”

Minghao’s stunned for a moment before he regains his bearings.

“I love you too.”

It’s fate, the way he’s only loved one other person this much, the way he told Mingyu in this very same house. His heart is racing so fast he knows Seokmin can feel it against the palm splayed across his chest. Minghao leans in to kiss her, once, chaste, smiling when she pouts, silently asking for another one. Their second kiss is deeper, Seokmin sighing into his mouth when he nips at her lower lip, licks into her mouth, pressing her against the wall harder.

“I could eat you out if you keep quiet,” Minghao mumbles when they pull away.

Seokmin’s mouth is slick with saliva, her lipstick smeared. Minghao doesn’t try to resist the urge to brush his thumb along her lower lip, messing it up even more, savoring the plush give of it. He delights in the way her cheeks are flushed and then she surprises him, taking his thumb into her mouth, humming around it before letting it out with a pop, kissing the tip of it.

“You know I can’t keep quiet that long,” she accuses, eyes narrowing. “So no. Also, _your parents._ But we’re both not working tomorrow and I’m only letting you leave the bed to cook for me.”

Minghao grins, tugging her to the bathroom so she can fix her lipstick. “I can do that, it sounds like a plan.”

His mother calls him down before he decides to make more impulsive decisions. Her cooking is as incredible as always, Seokmin taking the opportunity to bring up how Minghao’s cooking doesn’t taste anything like hers, his parents laughing. Seokmin and Minghao take turns at keeping their teacups full and it’s another thing that makes Minghao heady; the way they already _act_ like they’re married.

The tang yuan is served last and Minghao’s sure his mother spoons more than necessary into Seokmin’s bowl carefully, even as she thanks her profusely. Tasting it brings him back to his childhood every time, Seokmin’s eyes wide as she chews on the rice balls.

“This is better than boba pearls,” she murmurs.

“Told you they like you,” he whispers back.

Seokmin’s chased to the living room with his father and the wine after dinner, the sounds of the piano flooding through the house. His father loves listening to her play and Minghao won’t begrudge him that: he can share his pianist, sometimes. Minghao’s stuck doing dishes with his mother; she still does them by hand even though they have a dishwasher, something about cleaning your own messes.

“When are you marrying her?” His mother asks quietly, in Mandarin.

He nearly drops the plate she passes him. “Mama,” he protests weakly.

“Minghao,” she sighs out. “You’re my son. You look at her the way the moon looks to the sun.”

Minghao swallows. He knows he’s blatant, tries to tamp it down sometimes because he doesn’t want to overwhelm Seokmin but it escapes him all the same.

“Do I have your blessings?”

She’s quiet as she rinses the dishes, and for a brief moment, dread churns in the pit of Minghao’s stomach.

“I think,” she says carefully. “She is too good for you. So you better marry her and treat her the way I’ve raised you or I will get the cane out.”

Minghao laughs, hip checking her gently. “I will. I love you even though you gave Seokmin the biggest tang yuan.

“She deserves a prosperous year. Make sure you ask her parents for their blessings.”

He knows that’s the closest she will get to saying she loves him; caring for him and his. The rest of the night is pleasant, even if Minghao feels self-conscious of the way Seokmin is tucked against his side on the sofa. It just feels like the world has shifted a little on its axis now that his mother knows which means she will tell his father within the week, and then Minghao will have to foot a very awkward phone call.

“Merry Christmas Seokmin, I hope you have a good time with your family,” his mother says as they leave, pulling her into a hug.

“I will aunty,” Seokmin sounds oddly choked up and Minghao glances at her in concern. She’s a notorious lightweight and always emotional when drunk but her eyes are still clear and there’s barely a flush to her skin.

“We’ll see you at the New Year potluck,” his father confirms.

“You invited them to the potluck?” Minghao asks later when they’re in the car.

Seokmin’s hand is gentle and warm on his thigh, squeezing in concern. “I hope it’s okay. I’m inviting my parents too, it’ll be good to celebrate with them, don’t you think?”

“Sure,” Minghao smiles. “We’ll just have to tell Mingyu no fucking Jun until our parents leave.”

Seokmin laughs, throwing her head back. Minghao feels like there are butterflies loose in his chest except the butterflies is the insistent need to tell Seokmin he loves her. To make up for all the time he could have been saying it to her but was too hesitant for fear of scaring her off.

“You know,” Seokmin says later at night, the lights turned off, curled around Minghao. “I’ve been waiting for you to say it.”

“I did,” Minghao says sleepily. “I bought you the bracelet. I took you home. I told you I love you.”

Seokmin kisses the back of his neck gently. “Stupid. This is like you asking me out all over again.”

Minghao turns to face her, pressing their foreheads together.

“I said go out with me on the bouquet.”

“You didn’t _put your name_ ,” Seokmin hisses.

“Yeah. But I still asked you out.”

“Stupid.” Seokmin’s smile is bright even in the dark of their room, and Minghao knows it by sight and by sense, has memorized the way her teeth press against his tongue. “I can’t believe you asked me if I would marry you before you said I love you. And I love you, by the way.”

“It was a joke,” Minghao protests. It wasn’t. Seokmin doesn’t have to know.

“I love you too,” Minghao exhales, pulling her close.

 


	2. the only light i know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hypothetically,” Seokmin begins, grinning wide. “What if I were the one who proposed first?”
> 
> Minghao smiles, kissing here forehead, then the tip of her nose, then her lips, chaste.
> 
> “Hypothetically, I’d say yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, here's the rating bump i mentioned in the first author's note! if reading sex scenes makes you uncomfy, it starts towards the later third of the fic with "the sex comes later" and ends with "wish he had it in him for another round", if you wanna avoid reading it. i also didn't tag it because it's not explicitly written, but felching very much happens in this chapter. and while i would love to handwave unprotected sex between a het couple, i feel like it's necessary to mention that seokmin is on birth control and very much consenting to minghao coming inside, etc. be safe kids!! birth control helps prevent unwanted pregnancies but not the transmission of stds, etc.

Your wide eyes, are the only light I know

from extinguished constellations;

your skin throbs like the streak

of a meteor through rain.

**_Sonnet XVI,_ Pablo Neruda.**

 

Mingyu’s in the middle of making out with Jun when his doorbell goes off. It’s a little past nine in the evening on a Friday, Jun made dinner, the dishes are done, Mingyu just wants a break with his—well. Something _.  _ Jun is something, not quite sugar baby, not quite boyfriend.  __

“Don’t get it,” Jun murmurs, kissing the shell of his ear. 

Mingyu groans, sitting up and kissing the corner of Jun’s mouth apologetically. He’s worried it might be work, even if Jun’s enacted a very strict rule of no work beginning at after work on Fridays that lasts until Sunday. Spring is always a busy time, and as much as he likes Jun, Mingyu has a sense of duty that makes his job his other relationship. He’s surprised to find Minghao at his door, Seokmin pointedly absent. There’s a smile on his face but it’s tight, falls when he spots Jun over Mingyu’s shoulder.

“Ah, Junnie’s here. I don’t wanna bother you then, enjoy your night.”

“We have red wine,” Jun chirps, gently nudging Mingyu out of the way. “That syrah that you like. There’s also whiskey, if you need something harder.” 

Minghao doesn’t usually show up without warning — hasn’t for the longest time now, but Seokmin’s been busy touring for most of the month. If anything, Mingyu’s surprised it took this long for Minghao to show up at his door. 

“We didn’t have any plans, Minghao,” Jun says, gentle.

Mingyu grumbles under his breath. He  _ had  _ plans; make out with Jun until he came in his pants kind of plans. Embarrassing, but good. It’s been a while since he’s spent time with Minghao like this though, better that Jun’s with him too. Minghao orders Korean fried chicken, Jun picks out a show on Netflix and Mingyu keeps their glasses full, a neat system that gets them halfway through season 1 of Santa Clarita Diet.

“I think Minghao and Seokmin are Joel and Sheila,” Jun says when they take a break, Minghao snorting.

“Are you saying you wouldn’t help Seokmin kill Nazis? Or that you would complain if she needed your blood to live?” Jun demands.

“No, and no,” Minghao is grinning. “You two are the teenagers sorting out their feelings then,” Minghao ribs. 

“I am proud to own up to feelings,” Mingyu interjects, hiccuping.

Jun smiles at him, his legs thrown over Mingyu’s thighs, intertwining their fingers. They’re still figuring out where they are, but it’s better compared to the few weeks where Jun ignored Mingyu. They’re still navigating the waters with this—hearts out on the table— but Mingyu’s a fast learner. He’s learning what Jun likes and dislikes, how to coax him into being honest with Mingyu, the ways they fit together. 

“Good to know you’re not just dicking.” 

“Sometimes I dick Mingyu!” Jun grumbles.

Mingyu’s face flames red, mortified. Instead of saying anything, Minghao reaches over to high-five Jun, which, in Mingyu’s book, is  _ much  _ more mortifying. Mingyu’s almost grateful for the respite that comes with Jun excusing himself to bed.

“How’s it going with Jun?” Minghao asks as soon as the door closes behind Jun. 

Mingyu shrugs. “We’re figuring it out.”

“You sure you’re using your words and not your dick?” Minghao teases, Mingyu snorting as he takes a sip of his wine.

“I think… we want it to work. And that’s enough for now. What about you?”

“I miss her,” Minghao confesses.

“Come here,” he beckons. “When is she coming home?”

Mingyu doesn’t acknowledge the sigh of relief Minghao lets out when he rests his head on Mingyu’s thigh, Mingyu carding through his hair. It’s nice that he can still provide this for Minghao at the very least, that through everything, they still have each other. 

“In like two days,” Minghao mumbles.

“You can stay here,” Mingyu begins, shushing Minghao when he tries to interject. “But no moping around, you’re gonna be helpful or I kick you to mama”

Minghao laughs at that and it’s genuine this time. “Mama likes her,” he says almost absentmindedly. Mingyu is sure he’s drunk, cheeks flushed and eyes glazed with it.

“Hao, the  _ world  _ likes her.” 

“Yeah,” Minghao whispers. “I think she’s the one, Gyu.”

Mingyu’s hand stills in his hair. He can’t help but feel guarded; the last time Minghao thought this all he found was heartbreak. It takes a while to remind himself that Seokmin isn’t Minghao’s ex, that Seokmin does nothing but meet Minghao in the middle, gives as much as Minghao does.

“Yeah?” Mingyu asks.

“Yeah. Mama thinks so too.” 

“Mama’s always right.” 

Minghao chuckles, gaze turning serious. “Thank you.”

Mingyu shrugs. It’s nothing. In some ways, it has always been and will continue to be Minghao and Mingyu together. What matters is that they both know this. And that Mingyu will kill Minghao if he’s not best man, even if it means Seokmin will come after his ass.

 

**⚜**

 

The thing no one tells you about having someone in your life who fits as well as Minghao does into hers, Seokmin thinks, is the void their absence leaves behind. Seokmin feels a bit lost and far too reckless, like a river dammed up, pressure building up. What she wants is to disconnect from the world until the next leg of her tour starts. What she  _ needs _ is to bury herself in Minghao’s arms and sleep for half the day, then annoy him into picking up a Double-Double from In-N-Out. 

It’s been two weeks since she’s been away, letting herself into the apartment with a sigh of relief, surprised when it’s empty. Their shared calendars said nothing about Minghao having any meetings today but he’s pointedly absent. There’s no steaming teapot, the pin is up on the record player, the door to spare room they’d turned into a studio for Minghao is firmly closed, the bed—which they’d picked out together—is empty. Seokmin steps out of her disgusting airport clothes and into one of Minghao’s stupid, matching silk pyjama sets, crawling into their bed. If he’s at work, he should be back soon, Seokmin reasons, curled around Minghao’s cold spot in their bed, hugging his pillow to her. If she tries hard enough, she can pretend that she’s leeching off his body heat. That, combined with exhaustion and jetlag drags her under easily. 

Seokmin jerks awake from a nightmare, heart racing. It’s still vivid, fresh in her mind, Minghao and her screaming at each other for some reason she can’t even remember now. There was a point when they first got together where they clashed like oil and water. Minghao rarely had the patience to articulate his emotions and Seokmin was always quick to take offense; a good quarter of their sex life back then was makeup sex.

Almost at the two year mark though, they’re better at addressing their problems. Minghao knows how to pry her away from the piano, knows how to talk her down from her insecurities. In turn she knows when to pull him away from his laptop, when to bring meals to the studio. Her phone reads for six in the evening when she unlocks it, Seokmin frowning. If Minghao did go in for a meeting, he should be home by now. 

Her phone lights up with a text from Minghao just as she’s about to call him. 

_ Staying with Mingyu! Love you, saw you kicked ass in Chicago last night. I’ll pick you up at the airport.  _

There’s a selfie of him and Jun, the two of them making faces at the camera, Seokmin grinning. She’s tempted to tease Minghao for getting lonely, but she was too. It didn’t matter that she was surrounded by staff members and fans the whole time, the only person Seokmin wanted was on the other end of the coast. She’d fallen asleep to the sound of Minghao’s voice every night in the past two weeks and woken up to the call still connected, Minghao’s little sniffles on the other end of the line. It did nothing to soothe the longing in her though; nothing compared to the way Minghao’s body lined up against hers feeling like the balm to soothe all ails. She makes her way to the kitchen, pulling out ingredients for dinner and dialing Minghao’s number.

As the phone dials, Seokmin wonders if she can ever get used to this part of being an artist. The part where she spends extended amounts of time away from home. What happens when she starts a family, because she  _ wants  _ one. Seokmin thinks, no, she knows that if it were Minghao next to her when she does get there, she’d be in good hands. It’s a reassuring realization to have as Minghao answers with a breathless greeting. 

 

**⚜**

 

Minghao’s phone lights up with a call barely 5 minutes after he texts Seokmin. It’s her ringtone, a voice recording of her drunk and whiny and babbling in Korean, demanding he pick up the phone. Minghao lunges for it, almost dropping his phone as he answers the call. 

“Hello?” 

“Minghao,” Seokmin begins. She sounds amused, for some reason, but Minghao’s just happy she doesn’t sound  _ exhausted.  _ “Imagine my surprise when I took an early flight back to surprise my boyfriend, but he’s not home.” 

Minghao’s heart skips a beat. “You’re home?” 

Seokmin laughs, crystal windchimes over the line. “Yeah, baby. I’m cooking dinner, just come home soon. Love ya.”

She hangs up before Minghao can get a word in. He knows what he needs to do though, shooting Mingyu a text. Minghao misses her so much it feels like part of his soul dissolves every second he’s away from her but they’re both adults with responsibilities. Minghao, though, just has a compass in him that guides him to wherever Seokmin is. And right now, the fact that she’s in their house after two weeks has everything in him buzzing, recognizing due north and drawing him in. He despises LA traffic right now, every minute on the road feeling like it’s driving a bigger wedge between Seokmin and him. 

Their apartment isn’t quiet when he lets himself in, the complete opposite of what it’s been the past week. Instead there’s music playing—Minghao’s pretty sure it’s Marina’s latest record—Seokmin singing along in the kitchen. Minghao’s heart fissures open, his feet carrying him to her, wrapping his arms around her in a backhug. Minghao kisses the top of her head, inhaling the smell of her shampoo and perfume, his whole body relaxing. They’re swaying together and Seokmin’s  _ still  _ stirring the pot. 

“I’m cooking, you idiot,” Seokmin says, voice thick. 

Minghao’s not sure if he’s going to laugh or cry. “I missed you,” he says instead.

“And you won’t when I burn dinner.” 

“I love anything you cook, burned or not,” Minghao smiles, pressing a kiss against the nape of her neck.

Seokmin’s relaxed in his hold, humming quietly. 

“Get the rice and set the table,” she says. Minghao mourns the separation, but listens anyway.

Seokmin serves up the tofu carefully, Minghao waiting until she’s sitting next to him, picking at her own food. He’s almost afraid to breathe too loud, as if it would unsettle her and turn her into a mirage. 

“What’s wrong, lover boy?” Seokmin sighs, grinning. 

There’s a wide smile on her face and Minghao smiles back tentatively, intertwining the fingers of their free hand together. 

“I missed you,” he confesses, voice low, like it’s a secret. 

“I can tell,” Seokmin’s smile is softer, rubbing the back of his hand with her thumb. “I’m here now. Our calendars say we don’t have anything happening for the next week, we have all the time. I missed you too, jagiya.” 

The use of the pet name makes him feel warm, ears burning, shy, almost, as he presses a kiss to her knuckles, then to her bracelet. Seokmin smiles at him and feeds him a spoonful of fried rice and tofu even though he has the same thing in front of him. They take turns feeding each other as Seokmin tells him about the shows, and about catching her manager making out with one of the makeup artists. It’s how she’d bribed her way into an early flight back home, Minghao laughing. They’d FaceTimed almost every day and he’s heard the story already, but it’s better when it’s coming from Seokmin, solid and real in front of him. Sweet, like the ice cream she feeds him. Her hands on him, that’s love right there, settling in his bones like the dawning of the sun or the rising of the tide. Slowly and all at once, natural. 

The sex comes later, after the dishwasher is loaded and the table wiped down, after they’ve spent too much time in the shower, Seokmin complaining about how flights make her feel like a living corpse. It’s not even intentional—Minghao had figured she would be too tired— but he rains kisses down Seokmin’s neck, drags his teeth over the thin skin to suck a hickey into clear skin just because, her hands fisting in his hair and  _ oh _ , they haven’t done this in a while. 

“ _ Minghao, _ ” Seokmin whimpers out and that’s all it takes for Minghao to give in, giving, for Seokmin,  _ always  _ giving. 

Which is how Seokmin ends up on her hands and knees, thighs pressed close together while Minghao fucks the space between them. They both know fucking Seokmin’s thighs is  _ never  _ enough, not for him, not for her, but that’s what makes it fun. She’d asked for it and Minghao always gives her what she wants, even more when she’s presenting herself to him. She’s the goddess and he simply surrenders himself, Minghao losing the war against his self-control and patience, fast. 

“Baby,” Minghao pants out. Seokmin’s thighs are wet with a mix of lube and precome and her own slick and Minghao has no shame backing down. Asking for what he wants. “Baby, Seokmin, Minnie.” 

Seokmin whines, her back dipping even more, punches all the breath out of Minghao with how gorgeous she is. His thumbs fit perfectly in her back dimples, fit better splayed across her hips, fucking into her thighs harder. The noise that’s filling the room makes Minghao’s ears burn, desire running like liquid fire in his veins. 

"Minnie, fuck, can I fuck you, please?” Minghao pleads. 

She turns to watch him from over her shoulder, her expression dazed and flushed. Her lips are swollen and Seokmin looks like his desire taken concrete form. 

“Already?” Seokmin breathes out, Minghao biting down on a groan. 

“Please Minnie, miss you, love you.”

Minghao’s not sure what makes Seokmin crack, sighing out an agreement as they rearrange themselves. They both like it when Seokmin is on top but today, she’s on her back, pulling Minghao close. Minghao pauses, taking Seokmin in, the way her eyes are dark and trained on Minghao, neck and chest covered in hickeys, the glint of the bracelet on her wrist. The sight of it moves Minghao to a stupid degree: she’s never taken it off since he bought it for her—there’s a ritual to it.

_ A promise,  _ he’d murmured, opening it and sliding it onto her wrist. 

_ Gonna get me one every year?  _ She’d asked. Minghao remembers how she sounded amused, but there was something else in her eyes: measuring, evaluating. 

_ As long as you’ll let me,  _ he’d said in return. 

_ Keep the screw,  _ Seokmin said, despite Minghao’s protests.  _ Want you to be the one to take it off and put in on, as long as I’ll let you.  _

“I love you,” Minghao whispers against her mouth, teasingly drags his cock along the wetness gathered between her legs for the way Seokmin throws her head back, baring her neck. Minghao’s hand fits perfectly around it but today’s not the day for that. Today is about reminding her that he is here, he is hers. 

“Minghao, baby, baby, please,” Seokmin pants out, Minghao groaning when her nails drag down his back. They’re sharp, and the pain just fuels the fire of his desire.

Minghao presses their foreheads together, pushing into Seokmin slowly, groaning into her mouth. This—his cock sinking into her—it’s never stopped being  _ good. Better _ , when he takes in the way Seokmin’s panting against his mouth, squirming under him.  _ Best  _ when it’s been a while, the both of them agitated with pent up desire. 

“Whose impatient now?” He teases breathlessly, pulling out slowly and fucking in just as slow, relishing in her loud moan. 

“Please,” Seokmin whines. “It’s been a while, fuck me till I’m a mess, baby.”

One of Seokmin’s hands finds his, intertwines their fingers together. It’s the sight of their hands combined with her words that pushes Minghao over into fucking Seokmin in earnest, grinding their hips together in a way that has his name falling from her mouth like a prayer.  _ Minghao, Minghao, love you,  _ a broken stream that has him sitting up on his knees and hitching her thighs around his hips, fucking into her deeper. 

“I wanna marry you,” Minghao pants out. “Can I marry you?” He asks, very seriously, punctuating the question with a roll of his hips.

Seokmin’s exhale tapers off into a moan as she grabs the back of Minghao’s neck and pulls him close, closer, until every one of Minghao’s inhalations is the air from Seokmin’s exhalations. 

“If you make me come today, ah,  _ Hao, _ ” Seokmin moans when he reaches down to rub her clit. “I’ll think about it.” 

“I’ll make you come twice,” Minghao mumbles, pressing a messy, wet kiss to her mouth, driving into her harder when he pulls away. 

Whenever they fuck, the whole world melts away. Minghao’s awareness sharpens to Seokmin in front of him, the way her pussy feels around his cock, tight, hot,  _ wet.  _ The way she praises him—Minghao didn’t even know he liked being told how good he was being to her, for her, until she was. The way she’s sensitive, the way she breathlessly moans his name when he bends down to drag his tongue over a stiff nipple, the way she bucks her hips when his thumb circles her clit insistently. 

Seokmin doesn’t complain when he brings the same thumb up to her mouth, smears her wetness all over her lips, her gaze turned from warm honey to burnt caramel as she takes his thumb into her mouth, sucking on it. She pulls Minghao in for a kiss by the back of his neck when he pulls it away, Minghao going back to rubbing her clit with his wet thumb. 

Minghao knows Seokmin like the heartlines on his hand. Her ambitions, her dislikes, her pride, her tastes whether in food or fashion, her wrath. Minghao knows when she’s going to come, how the muscle of her thighs go tense under his palms, how her back arches away from the bed, how his name sounds when she’s saying it on the verge of her orgasm. Her orgasm tips him into his, Minghao grinding into her to ride out both their orgasms, her walls milking him. 

They stopped using condoms a while back unless it was for quickies; Seokmin was on birth control and even if Minghao did accidentally knock her up, well, he’s always liked children. It never stops being obscenely sexy though, the slick noises when Minghao pulls out and the mix of their cum dripping out of her pussy, wet and swollen. 

Seokmin’s breathless, languid the way she gets after an orgasm, but Minghao promised her two, isn’t the kind of man who backs down on his word. Kisses his way down her body, grinning against her skin when her hands tighten in his hair after he circles his tongue around her nipples. Resumes kissing his way down, skips over where she wants him to suck more hickeys into her thighs. Presses his thumb against the blossoming bruises, Seokmin’s pleas escaping sounding higher and higher. 

Once, right before their one year mark, while she was on tour, Minghao had flown out to her. Joked about her not needing to do her vocal warm ups because all he had to do was eat her out. Seokmin had hummed, ordered the entire room out and Minghao spent a good 30 minutes on his knees. Everyone knew what was happening and 45 minutes later Seokmin went on to sing her set perfectly. It’s sort of a running expectation now: if Minghao shows up backstage before one of Seokmin’s concerts, there’s a designated 30 minutes smoke break for the entire production team. 

Minghao’s had practice making Seokmin come from his mouth alone, to say the least. It doesn’t bother him in the least that he’s eating his own come out of her, dipping his tongue into Seokmin’s opening. If anything, it just solidifies this, what they are, the ways they belong to each other; Minghao wants Seokmin to be part of his future. 

It’s easy to eat her out like this, sensitive and shuddering under Minghao’s hands and mouth, the little appreciative noises Seokmin makes when Minghao presses a wet kiss to her clit, her voice cracking on his name when he sucks on it.

“You taste so good,” he pulls away to say, Seokmin’s cheeks flushing a deeper red, letting out an embarrassed noise.

It’s always been easy to make Seokmin fluster even though Minghao knows all the ways she gets demanding and desperate, unashamed about what she wants until she has to ask for it.

“Fuck,” Seokmin gasps out when he goes back to fucking her with his tongue, one hand tight in his hair. “Please, jagiya, Minghao,  _ ah. _ ”

Seokmin’s so wet it’s easy to thrust two fingers into her, fucking her with them, tonguing at her clit. 

“What do you think your fans would say if they saw you like this?” Minghao asks, fully knowing the idea of an audience riles Seokmin up, grinning when she whines.

She’s made for the stage, always. Sex is a performance too, Minghao the sole audience to the way she sings for him, the way her hips move for him. Seokmin’s cupping her tits, playing with her nipples and Minghao can tell she’s close from the way her thighs are trying to clamp down around his head. Seokmin comes with two of Minghao’s fingers screwing into her, his lips tight around her clit, his free hand hand intertwined with her. He coaxes her through it, fucking her with his fingers, replacing his mouth with his thumb until Seokmin’s pushing him away with a foot on his shoulder, whining his name.

Minghao sits up on his knees, her foot trailing a line from his chest to his pelvis, Seokmin beckoning him with a crook of her hand. He scrambles up, settling on his side facing Seokmin as she kisses him, licks into his mouth with eagerness, one hand in his hair and the other curled around the side of his neck. Distantly, he wonders if he could Pavlov his dick into getting hard from the feeling of her hand around his neck, the cold metal that brushes his collarbone. As it stands, Minghao’s half-hard against Seokmin’s thigh, groaning against her mouth when she wraps her hand around his length, jerking him off agonizingly slow. 

“Do you like teasing me?” Seokmin mumbles against his mouth.

“You,” his voice breaks when her grip tightens around him. 

“I?” Seokmin teases, kissing the corner of his mouth.

“You said fuck you till you’re a mess,” he finally pants out, searching blindly for another kiss.

Seokmin hums, moving faster, thumb brushing over the head of his dick, Minghao’s hips stuttering into her fist. These are the things they know about each other; they could get each other off from memory alone, Seokmin by jerking Minghao off, Minghao by eating her out. 

“Did you miss me baby?” Seokmin says against his mouth.

“Yeah, fuck, always.” Minghao has his eyes squeezed shut, panting against his mouth as he fucks into her hand, brushing against the hot heat and smooth skin of her thigh.

His second orgasm slams into him abruptly, none of the coasting gentleness of the first one, prompted by Seokmin’s nails barely grazing the head of his cock, the cold metal of her bracelet against his pelvis, cumming all over her hand with a groan of her name. Minghao barely has a moment to catch his breath before Seokmin’s bringing her hand up to his mouth and he’s licking it clean, two of her fingers pressing down on the backs of his teeth, his tongue. She pulls it away, Seokmin leaning in to kiss him open mouthed, Minghao pushing his come into her mouth. She swallows it, and Minghao really wishes he had it in him for another round. 

What he wants now is to curl up around Seokmin and pass out. Cook her breakfast tomorrow and run every day errands. Take her shopping just because she’s back. Do the nondescript things, the things that Minghao’s missed doing with her the two weeks she wasn’t around. 

“I made you come twice,” Minghao presses a sticky kiss to Seokmin’s cheek, grinning when she makes a face. 

“You also fucked me like, four times before I left for tour, so this is nothing,” Seokmin rambles. “As if I was gonna forget how good you fuck me. It did give me jack off material though.”

“Yeah but you also called me whining about how you’re horny and needed me to dirty talk to you.” Minghao snorts, cupping Seokmin’s face in his palm. They definitely need another shower now, and a change of sheets. “Are you thinking about marrying me now?” 

Seokmin laughs. “If the institution of marriage was based on mutual orgasms, we would have gotten married somewhere between our seventh and eighth date.” 

“But I promise I’m thinking about marrying you seriously now,” Seokmin continues. 

“Only now?” Minghao teases. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Seokmin’s smile is coy.

“Okay but seriously,” Minghao bites his lip. “Would you marry me?” 

“Are you proposing right now?” Seokmin’s smile is small but it radiates so much tenderness, draws Minghao closer.

“If I were to hypothetically propose to you, would you say yes?”

“Hypothetically,” Seokmin’s smile is bigger now, the two of them curled towards each other, legs tangled together. “If you proposed from your heart, if it were from you and just you, no hypothetical I would…”

“You would?” Minghao whispers in the space between them. 

“I’d say yes. If there’s no hypotheticals.” 

Minghao feels a sense of relief spread through him, dizzy, even more lightheaded than how he felt chasing his orgasm. The knowledge that Seokmin would say yes settles warm and heady in the center of his chest. All that’s left now, he supposes, is to buy a ring. Make it official. 

“Hypothetically,” Seokmin begins, grinning wide. “What if I were the one who proposed first?” 

Minghao smiles, kissing here forehead, then the tip of her nose, then her lips, chaste. 

“Hypothetically, I’d say yes.” 

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> dongzhi is a chinese winter solstice festival, a time where the family gets together to prepare for the year ahead. tang yuan is staple to dongzhi, and the family usually makes them together as a bonding activity. tang yuan are filled sometimes filled with lian rong (lotus) paste or dou sha(red bean) paste. yuanxiao dumplings are another kind of sweet dumpling made with walnut and almond paste. most of the fic is outlined/written but i'll be revisiting it between working on different works, so i cannot promise a regular update schedule yet. please leave comments if you enjoyed reading this fic i cannot stress how much it motivates me to continue writing when i receive comments/feedback on wips. i also have a [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/lilting) and recently made a [public twt](https://twitter.com/sunfkedboy) if you’d like to say hi there instead.


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